


The Client

by The_Plaid_Slytherin



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Community: bsg_kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/pseuds/The_Plaid_Slytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saul Tigh, P.I., has an interesting client.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Client

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for bsg_kink.

The moment he walked into my office, I knew what he wanted. I can read people pretty well after years in the PI business, and I could tell William Adama didn't want to be here. Adama—I realized I knew his dad. Knew his dad and for sure, Joe would be pissed to know his baby boy was in my office. 

I sure wasn't stupid enough to let on that I knew that, though.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Adama?" I asked. 

He clearly looked nervous. "I need something found," he said. 

I leaned back in my chair. Scion of the Adama family, nephew of the head of the Tauron mob… and he needed to come to little old Saul Tigh to have something found. 

I guessed I was moving up in the world. 

"And what might that be?" 

"Some pictures," he said. "They're of my wife."

I raised my eyebrows. "Somebody blackmailing her? Blackmailing you?"

He tugged awkwardly at his shirt collar. "Just something I'd prefer to remain private. There was a time… before we were married… that we would rather stayed out of the public eye." 

I rubbed my upper lip. I could tell this probably wasn't going to end well for him and he'd probably lose all those pretty little business connections along the way—I knew when he'd married CarolAnne Leland, he'd stepped right out of the temple and into the Vice-Presidency of Leland Heavy Industries and all those nice, fat Fleet contracts. 

But, still, a job was a job and I couldn't let any sympathies I might've had for a good-looking guy cloud my desire for his cubits. They were just as good as anyone's, and he had a lot more than most people.

When I went into my file cabinet, I went for the contract I reserved for deeper pockets. And as I did this, I cast a glance over my shoulder, watching him as he brushed the fall of dark, wavy hair back off his brow. 

So, I'd get my dough and I'd get to look at Bill Adama for a few weeks. All in all, a pretty sweet deal, considering my policy. 

My policy is I don't frak clients.

**

I had the negatives Bill needed on the seat next to me. 

And I had a black eye from CarolAnne's boyfriend. 

Somebody had lied. Either Bill had lied to me, or she'd lied to Bill, and I couldn't say I liked either option. I hate being lied to—especially when I don't know I'm being lied to, which is rare—but I hated the idea of somebody screwing around with that guy. 

Okay, so maybe I'd fallen for him a bit. I'm only human, and he'd been calling about the case about twice a day (I was planning to charge him for the call time) and we'd been talking about other stuff, too. I never said I wasn't sentimental. 

The further I drove, the more sure I was that it was Bill who had lied to me—CarolAnne seemed pretty happy with her new beau and she sure didn't act like it was a problem I'd found out about him. 

I tried to get angry as I drove out to the Lake District, where the Adama pad was, but try as I might, I couldn't. 

That was probably my first mistake. 

Bill met me at the door with his hand out. "You've got them, right?" he said.

"Yeah, I got 'em." I slapped the negatives into his hands. "I had a real interesting chat with your old lady, too. She didn't seem real concerned about these. You wanna tell me why you lied to me?"

Bill's mouth twisted into a frown. "I'll send you a check," he said and made to shut the door, but then he sighed and threw it wide open. "You're smart, you know that?"

"If I wasn't smart, I wouldn't eat." 

He led me into a fancy-looking living room and tossed the negatives onto the couch. "Yeah, I lied. My life's a bit of a mess, right now; I think you can forgive a little lie." 

I shouldn't have cared. I should've had him write me a check right now and left. Maybe treated myself to a steak. 

That was my second mistake.

"What's wrong?" I asked him.

He sat down and buried his head in his hands. "I'm losing everything," he muttered. "My wife, my job. You know what that's like? She files for divorce and my father-in-law tells me I'm not really a good fit for the company."

"So you knew this was going on?"

"Of course I knew," he snapped. "I didn't say anything. Let it go on—but now, it's over. She wants out."

"I'm guessing this is not a new thing?" 

"No, it's not…" He sighed. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this." He went over to his desk and produced his checkbook. "Here. I'll pay you extra for all of this."

"No." I got up and crossed the room and covered my hand with his. "You want to talk, talk. I'll listen." And I wasn't even going to charge him, too. I thought that was pretty generous of me. 

So, he talked. We ordered Gemenese and ate it, right there in that fancy living room that I can guarantee you has never had anything as remotely messy as a Gemenese sticky roll in it. Bill was obviously a man in distress.

We talked for hours. He told me everything about the problems with his soon-to-end marriage, his worries about losing his job and his house. All I wanted to tell him was not to worry, to take him home with me… not that I could picture Bill Adama, with his manicure and his three-hundred-cubit haircut in my crap apartment, but I was getting sentimental. 

I'm pretty sure that was my third mistake.

Or maybe the third mistake was taking his hand in mine (yeah, he really did have a manicure) and giving his fingers a sympathetic squeeze that somehow ended with them laced with mine. 

At least, I didn't kiss him. _He_ kissed _me_. He'll have to tell you if that was a mistake or not. 

He was also the one who led us to the bedroom (mostly because it was his house and I didn't know where it was). 

"You sure about this?" 

The time I picked to ask him was when we were naked, in his bed, but I figured that was as good of a time as any. Over the years, I've kind of gotten the impression I'm not real desirable to anybody with a postal code this high, so I wanted to give him a chance to back out if he came to the conclusion that his rebound frak probably shouldn't be the PI he'd hired to check out his wife. 

His response was to kiss me. I took that as a yes. (You have to learn to read between the lines in my biz.) 

I had lube in my jacket (it pays to be prepared) and I prepared him gently. I'd learned to pay attention to his eyes in our time together and his eyes were just perfect. Real gorgeous shade of blue… hell, I can't describe it. His picture's on my desk if you want to see. Doesn't do them justice, though. 

He was making these little gasps and whispering my name. He'd never called me by my first name before (he actually hadn't called me anything, come to think of it) and I can tell you, that did things to me. 

I needed my cock inside him right then and there. A good thing, too, since he expressed the exact same sentiment.

**

So, yeah. My policy is I don't frak clients.

Bill would be pretty pissed if I did.


End file.
